


An Unlikely Ally

by AppleTreePark



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Thor (2011), Dom Loki (Marvel), Drama & Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Love, Magic, Protective Loki (Marvel), Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleTreePark/pseuds/AppleTreePark
Summary: All Loki ever wanted was for his Father to accept him.Thrown into an impossible situation, how far will he go to achieve that approval?Y/N is an unlikely ally, but she is also Loki's only chance of getting what he wants as he is forced into an futile quest to retrieve an object for the Queen of the Fae.But what is her secret?canon divergence after Thor 2011tells the story in between Loki falling off the bifrost and receiving the tesseract in avengers assembleeventual smut
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Kudos: 18





	1. Falling

Your breath fogged in front of your face – it is cold for this time of year. A twig snapped underfoot, and the rabbit you had been tracking jerked up at the noise and darted off into the hedge.

You let the string of your bow fall slack. Another potential meal lost.

Peering through the branches of a large-leafed tree, you start desperately searching for another animal to eat – it has started to get darker and your stomach rumbles more menacingly with every passing hour. Every dark shadow looks likes another rabbit, and once you swore you saw an Elk weaving throughout the trunks that turned out to just be a fallen branch. Obviously, you are not cut out for hunting, or even life as a runaway at all. The forest had seemed a good idea to begin with, providing you with ample cover and protection, but at times like these you couldn’t help but long for the warm fireplaces and thick blankets of your home.

Well, your  _ previous _ home. It was not yours any longer.

You stifle a sigh and push past the tree to continue your trek through the forest. Even ten steps later you are exhausted again; your boots are caked with frozen mud and the leaves keep clinging to them as if trying to drag your leaden limbs down into the ground with the dirt. At this point you are almost tempted to let them.

The days are long in the forest, and difficult. It’s every man for himself and the of the few people around no one seems to be willing to help unless it could give them the opportunity to rob you, or mug someone else. Everyone living in the forest had to succumb to either thieving or murder, and you were no exception. When had things suddenly become so difficult? The winds howl overhead and you stuff your hair back into the hood of your coat, trying to brace against it and keep moving forward. Were there no squirrels in this part of the wood? The trees were much barer now than they had been earlier in the year, and their naked spindles stretched up into the sky. No sign of any squirrels running between them, and with the way the branches had started to violently swing in the wind you would be lucky to catch one still.

After another hour you gave up. You had curled your fingers around the wood of the bow and turned as if to make your way back to your sleeping-place when you saw it: a deer.

A large beautiful creature with soft-looking brown fur and meat enough for a week, strolling lazily between the trees. You could not believe your luck! Mouth flooding with saliva, your belly ached with the thought of the succulent meat cooking over the fire. Finally, your luck had turned around.

You notch your bow.

Thunder rumbles overhead.

Slowly raising the arrow, you look down the shaft to aim it straight at the peaceful animal.

Clouds gather menacingly directly above. You do not notice.

_ Breathe. Think of the food. Do not mess this up. _

You release the string and watch with anticipation as the arrow flies towards the deer.

A solid hit. The soft thunk is probably the most satisfying sound you'd heard in a month, you think.

Allowing a rare smirk to grace your face you make towards the meat, skipping slightly over a log, incredibly proud of your success. The last time you had scored a meal like this must’ve been eons ago.

The thunder echoes louder. You glance quickly upwards – how long did you have until the rain hit?

But it's not rain clouds you see. Your eyes widen in astonishment. Brilliant light fills the sky like a fissure had split open across the atmosphere, and shades of blue and yellow and green beam down like a star had burst open. You strained your eyes to try and see what was causing it. Just then, as soon as it had appeared, the fissure snapped closed, and all the light was directed down in a kind of pillar directly over your head. The force of the light hitting the floor pushes you backward with a deafening blow, and you have no choice but to scramble over to the body of the deer, unsure if the light was malevolent and unwilling to find out. Ducking close to the foliage on the forest floor, you try to bite back the gasp of fear when you see what must have surely caused the light: a figure, falling from the sky.

A tiny speck of a person had dropped out of the fissure, getting closer and closer to the ground. The blackened corpse is limp, and his body is plummeting at a surely alarming rate. Where did he come from? Despite yourself you half rise from your hiding space as if to make towards the light, but before you can even think of going towards it to try and aid him, his body hits the floor with a sickening thud.

The disappearance of the light emphasizes the quiet of the forest. You had not noticed the loud humming of the pillar until it had gone, and you found yourself holding your breath in the resulting silence.

Who was he?

Surely someone important, judging by the expensive fitted black and green leather tunic he wore. But then his face looked gaunt as if he had not eaten, and the torn fabric all along his left leg made suggestions of a battle. One shoe was missing and he looked jostled, likely from the extreme height of his fall. There was a split along his cheek, and he had a blackened eye, but even they did not hide his beauty, you admitted to yourself. When you had last seen such a handsome man? Probably not since you had left home, you imagined, but even there, you could call few men to mind that rivalled this one in looks. Fewer still, that you had met in such intriguing circumstances as this one. You note the slight rise and fall of his chest. How is he still alive?

He groaned and made as if to roll over. 

“Father…” his voice was hoarse. He was clearly in unimaginable pain.

You bit your lip and glanced towards the deer. There was no one around for miles. If you left him here, he would surely die. Shuffling closer to him, you warily watch for any sign of waking, somehow knowing that you would be in trouble if he awoke. All around his body the ground was scorched in a large circular pattern that seemed entirely unfamiliar to you - you had never seen markings such as these before. Groaning slightly again, the man drew back your attention. He seemed restless in his sleep, eyebrows furrowed together. Lips twisted, his hand was pressed to his injured side even in slumber.

You flicked your eyes towards the deer and back to the man. How could you possibly move him from the forest floor back to your small cave? And you had not forgotten the fresh meat of the deer that you would not allow to go to waste. You slung your satchel off your back and rested on the ground next to the man. Opening it quickly, you pull out your map and soon realise that you'd somehow managed to walk around in a large circle on your hunt, and you were only about a three or four miles walk from your home base. 

Carefully wrapping up the deer carcass, you shove as much of it as you can back into your satchel. It looks slightly grotesque, with the head of the animal hanging out the top, but you refuse to leave such quality meat behind. You spend twenty minutes trying to arrange the man into a position where you could easily lift him. The dimming light made navigation difficult, and the heavy man slung over your shoulder had the muscles in your arm screaming after only a short time. Normally this journey would only have taken you only half an hour, but struggling with your load it’s closer to an hour before you arrive. Stepping out the foliage and seeing your little cave makes you want to start crying out of relief. Exhausted, you lay the man down on the furs at the back of the cave where you can keep an easy eye on him and finally settle down to start a fire. By now darkness has completely fallen, and the cold and ice have begun to set in. The view from your cave entrance is not spectacular, but it gives you a wide and sheltered image of the immediate surrounding areas, making it easy to defend. Hopefully, it will be enough to protect you and the man. Wrestling your shoes off you fling them over to some long lost corner of your bed - hopefully never to be seen again. You'd had enough of the wretched things for a lifetime.

He has not made a sound since you placed him down in the cave and you’re unsure if that is meant to be concerning or not, as your background in medicine is limited, but you know for definite that he needs to eat. With that thought in mind you turn your attention back to the deer stew currently simmering over the fire, and try to fight the ache in your jaw over the delicious smell. The rest of the animal you had already carved, and the skins were hanging out over the entrance of your cave to dry - they promised to make a very warm blanket, or perhaps a new layer of clothing. Hopefully they would be enough to form a new sleeping-space, as your typical one was currently inhabited by a man who had fallen from the sky. 

How had your life come to this?

Ladling some stew into a bowl, you cast a nervous eye over to the man. He's somehow managed to turn onto his side facing towards you, and you find yourself gazing at him once more - he was honestly one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. His dark lashes dusted the top of his cheek, and his skin was so smooth and creamy it could be milk. 

You hesitantly shuffle toward him and kneel down beside his body, bowl in hand. You slowly rotate him so he leans slightly upright against the wall, and begin to spoon the stew into his mouth. Your stomach clearly envies him, from the loud rumbles it was making. You hadn’t had stew like this in months, and yet here you were, feeding it to a stranger. A stranger who may not even live to see the morn, accounting for his wounds: a broken leg, for certain, and a gash along the back of his head that looked particularly nasty. Perhaps a broken rib as well, for which you failed to suppress a wince at the thought of the jostling it must have received when you carried him over your shoulder. You pressed your hand to his abdomen and your fingers came away coated in thick, dark blood. That wound would need to be seen immediately if he wanted to prevent infection -you cursed yourself for not checking him over first when you arrived back at the cave and wasting precious minutes carving the deer.

Your own hunger forgotten, you tear away at the linen shirt he had been wearing under the armour to better assess the wound. It was almost black with blood, gaping open at you from his side. Quickly cleaning it with some dampened rags, your attempts to help appeared to be in vain as every pass of your towel over the wound seemed to reopen it and more blood would spill endlessly. You were no physician, but even you could realise he was losing too much blood -his skin looked almost ashen.

Shit. You thought, eyes widening at the depth of the wound. Shit, shit, shit. You didn’t know if you could save him. You desperately try to push his skin together with your hands and reach around your neck for the little potion bottle you kept there. Was he worth it? A man you didn’t even know the name of, did he deserve what little you had in this bottle? 

Too late to change your mind, you yank the cork out of the bottle with a resounding pop. Tilting the man’s head back, you gently squeeze his nostrils until he gasps for air, and you send the potion down his throat as quickly as you can.

You press the sides of the wound back together again, eagerly glancing from his face to the wound and back again. Slowly your excitement turns to dread as nothing happens.

Why isn’t it working? Slightly frantic now, you shake the bottle vigorously over his mouth, and watch as a single drop of the potion falls onto his bottom lip, taking an eternity to slip into his mouth. As soon as it does, the man takes a shuddering gasp of air, and the wound under your fingertips starts to grow hotter and hotter. The skin is knitting itself back together again -the potion worked. You let your head sag onto the man's chest and breathe out a sigh of relief. Glancing at the wound again, you see where the healing potion has worked - where there was a large cavernous wound, now was only an angry pink scar. He would surely have that for the rest of his life, but at least now that would be longer than a matter of hours.

Quietly, you band up the rest of his injuries. Deciding against leaving the shirt on him, you dump it in the washing bowl, despite knowing the now dried red bloodstains would likely never leave the garment. A while later, you kneel to stand up and go ladle yourself a portion of cooling deer stew, when a stoney voice, much clearer than it had any business being after a day of unuse, called out to you.

“You saved my life, darling. You saved the life of the monster.” He cocked his head but made the gesture somehow threatening. “I fear you will come to regret it.”


	2. Meeting

_ “I fear you will come to regret it.” _

His gaze was hard and unfaltering. You could not look away for a long moment. Exhaling, you smile slightly and shuffle away from him to tend to the stew -unnecessary, but you were desperate for an excuse to look away from him. 

“I would’ve thought a ‘thank you’ would be the appropriate response,” you snark back. You’d be damned before you let any stranger, especially one you’d just saved the life of, disrespect you. The metal spoon clanks against the side of the pot, betraying the shaking of your hands. His eyes narrow. 

“You would do well to address your prince properly, pet, before I decide that lacerating your hands would serve as an apt reminder,”

You started. Prince? Yes, his clothes were of fine tailoring, but surely you would recognise him if he were a prince of some realm. And which realm was it that could lay claim to the arrogant, admittedly attractive prince?  Nidavellir ? You smirked slightly. He definitely was  _ not _ the Prince of Dwarves.

Glancing back at him, he has somehow managed to shuffle himself into an upright position, and his arms are crossed over his chest, glaring pointedly at you. You may have found him more intimidating if it weren’t for the black eye and myriad of bandages criss crossing over his skin, and the sunken look to his face that had only slightly retrieved its colour from the serving of your stew. You meet his gaze and stare at him, unmoving, eyes locked in a battle of wills that you were determined not to lose. 

He looked away first, obviously frustrated. 

A moment of silence passes and you turn your attention back to the stew. The bowl in your hands was cooling, but you started to eat it quickly and savoured every mouthful. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine that this was your nurse’s cooking, and that you were sitting opposite her in your bedchambers at home. The prince cleared his throat and roused you from your daydreams. Truth was, you were not there. You could tell the man -the prince- was still watching you but you tried to ignore him. Eating in silence, you start thinking about what you’re going to do with him. Keep him here? You daresay you’ll be unable to return him to his crack in the sky. 

“Which realm is this, pet?”

He broke the silence. Maybe you were wrong, but you thought you detected a note of uncertainty in his voice. Fear? 

“Tell me. Svartalfheim? Or is this still Asgard?” 

You looked at him quizzically. He was from Asgard?

“Asgard? No, this is Alfheim. Home to the fae.”  This time there was no mistaking the slight widening of his eyes before he caught himself.  _ Interesting _ . Turning his gaze to you, he looked at you deeply.

“And who might you be then, darling? Who do I have to thank for saving my life?” 

You bite your lip and his eyes immediately dart to it. You notice he is pressing a hand against one of his wounds again. 

“Your wounds,” You choose to focus on that instead of his question. “They still ail you?”  Moving over again to your box of medicines, you can still feel his gaze on you. He humours your avoidance. He waits a moment before answering and you could almost feel the frustration rolling off of him.

“Yes. I fear without your kind intervention I would have bled out on the floor out there.” He gestures to the entrance of the cave with a pained groan and shifts again slightly on the furs. 

You let his comment go unacknowledged, and the clinking of your medicine bottles is the only sound for a moment. Truthfully, it would not normally take you so long to select the correct one, but your heart was pounding at the thought of touching his skin. Gritting your teeth, you move over to him with the glass bottle of antiseptic in your hand. You cast a wary eye over his bandages again and notice that a couple have already bled through the white linen you used to bind them.

“I’m going to need to clean your injuries again, I’m afraid,” you gesture to the vial in your hand. “It’s probably going to sting.”

“Nothing I can’t handle, I’m sure,”

You roll your eyes and glance up at him again, noting the slight mirth dancing in his eyes. 

"Naturally, your Majesty." Peeling away at one of the cloths binding him, you note the superficiality of the wound and breathe a sigh of relief. It had not gotten worse.

"Good news? Your exhale betrays your relief, my lady, but perhaps that does not mean I am to live. Surely you would rather the strange, intruding man off your sleeping-place as soon as possible, perhaps through death?"

"I do not want you to die, intruding stranger or no." You swat his chest playfully  and glance up to his face with a smirk.  Injuries now exposed to the open air, you hesitantly start to dab away at them with your gauze swab. He hisses slightly but you try not to look at him lest he see something in your eyes you don’t want him to.

You have never seen a man’s naked chest before, in any circumstances, and Loki was not an unattractive man. He had a deep cut all along the right side of his chest needing cleaning that skirted dangerously close to his nipple for your comfort.

Cheeks flaming, you refuse to look at him and he chuckles slightly. You can feel the slight puff of his warm breath against your ear.

“Embarrassed, pet?” his hand closes over yours and you realise it’s shaking. 

“No, not at all! I just… am unused to having a man where I sleep, half-naked.”

He smirked again and tightened his hand around yours.

“Would you  _ like _ to get used to it?”

You ripped your hand away and glared at him. He looked amused.

_ Teasing _ , of course. 

You reapplied his bandages, entirely too conscious that your face was still bright red. He was a horrible tease. You berated yourself for thinking even for a second that he was being legitimate in his advances toward you. You'd known the man thirty minutes, for Yggdrasil's sake!

You move away from him.  “My Lord, enough with your teasing! I feel you should grant me that as suitable compensation for saving your life,”

“Perhaps, my Lady, but your neck flushes the most becoming pink when I say such things,” His eyes turn darker and flick down your body. “I look forward to seeing how far that colour goes.” His voice is filled with mirth.

“You cannot say such things!” You move your hand as if to smack him across the face but he shoots up to grasp it. You look up at him but your gaze immediately drops when you see the storm brewing in his eyes.

"Please, I meant no offence,"

A sudden force closed around your neck. You gasped out of shock but the sound was quickly strangled by it. Your hands pull out of his grip and shoot up to grasp the hands and pull them away from you but you quickly realise that there's nothing there. He's strangling you with his mind. You meet his eyes and you swear the mirth that was there a second ago had been swallowed up by something dark.  _ You were going to die. _ How had you managed to save the life of a magic-wielding monster who was going to kill you? Just as your vision was starting to spot and blur around the edges he released you. You fell coughing to the floor.

"You would do well to remember your place, pet. I am your prince.”

You scoff as best you can from your position on the ground, hand still massaging your neck.

“You are  _ not _ the prince of Alfheim, and I don’t recognise you. I have no obligation to serve you! I cannot house a man who tries to kill me.” Your chest heaves and you look up at him again, afraid.

He looks somewhat uncomfortable. The dark look has disappeared from his eyes and is replaced with apprehension.

“You truly do not recognise me?”

“No, I do not,” You glare at him, berating yourself for using the rest of your mother’s healing potion on a man who would so willingly harm you. “Is your ego so swollen that you truthfully cannot imagine a single person in all the realms who may not know who you are?” 

He runs his uninjured arm through his hair before saying: “I am Loki, son of Odin, god of mischief.”

He searches your face for any sign of acknowledgement. You are determined to give him none. A second passes and you realise your childish resolve to ignore him wouldn’t stick. You sighed.

“I know the Allfather, but I have never been to Asgard. Queen Aelsa closed the links between our worlds after the War of Realms, and there has been no communications between them since,”

You turned towards him curiously. How had he managed to get here from Asgard? 

“It should not be possible for you to be here,” you remarked.

You’re sitting leaning against the wall now, almost next to him. You cannot remember moving towards him, but there is something almost magnetic that keeps pulling the two of you closer and closer together. 

Breathing almost returned to normal, you sit in companionable silence. He pulled his linen undershirt back on over his bandages, only slightly exhaling from the pain of moving his stiff limbs. A flicker of sympathy flashes through you. Despite his attempt to strangle all the air out of you, you somehow have already forgiven him.

“I confess, I do not know how I arrived here either. It was not… intentional,” 

He furrowed his brows. “I did not intend to travel between the realms. I did not intend to travel at all,”

You wondered what his intention was.

“You claim I am running from something, and it seems to me that we have that in common.”

He does not look at you. 

“Perhaps you are right." 

You look into his eyes and there it is again: fear.


	3. Learning

Two days later and you’ve already had enough.

“There is no such thing on Alfheim! I don’t know where you’re getting all this information, but it is sorely outdated.”

Loki glances up from where he’s leaning over the wash-bowl, cleaning his face. The water has made his hairline wet, and some strands stick to his face. You swallow. He scoffs. 

“My mother used to tell us tales of the light elves to send us to sleep, I doubt she would  _ lie _ about how you carve your children’s teeth for their first birthdate,” Droplets of water run down his throat.

You look at him in bewilderment, trying to prevent your eyes from tracing the stray water.

“Alright, firstly,  _ why _ is your mother telling you tales of teeth-carving for bedtime? That sounds somewhat traumatic. Secondly, no. We don’t carve teeth. What would be the point of that?”

You roll your eyes and finish washing the bowls you’d used for dinner. You’d made another stew from the last of the deer- thank the norns. Deer may be a hard-won delicacy, but it grew old  _ very _ quickly. It had served to make you both all  _ three _ meals for that day, and Loki had only complained about the choice of food  _ four _ times. You had snapped at him only two of those occasions.  In your defence, you were perhaps grouchy from your lack of sleep from the previous nights. The Prince had fallen asleep again shortly after first waking, no doubt exhausted from his wounds so you had been left to half-slump against the rock wall of your cave.  Waking several times during the night, you kept cursing the man who had quite literally fallen into your life.

Loki was… an interesting man, to say the least.

Rendered immobile for the first few hours of the day, Loki did nothing but talk to you despite his unfriendly first impressions. Somehow you got the sense that he didn’t share very often, so you bit your tongue regarding his frequent complaints -you were the one who had saved _ his _ life, he could at least show some _ gratitude _ \- and just let him talk. He told you anything he could think of, bizarre stories from his brother’s adventures on the battlefield to his mother uncovering some mischievous trick Loki had had planned for his friends. To begin with you had ignored him, still peeved from his attempted strangulation the day before, but he won you over quickly. He was so charismatic it was impossible to stay angry at him.

He was looking at you again, stray droplets of water  _ still _ running down his face.

“What?” you snapped, not noticing how you automatically straightened your spine once you realised you had his attention.

He barely reacted at your outburst and instead just smirked softly.  He parted his mouth and your gaze was drawn to his lips before you shot back up to his eyes again -  _ you must stop doing that. _

“Who are you? My Lady, you dress like a savage, but you carry yourself like a queen. Who are you running from?” he questioned, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

Your gaze turns hard.

“That is not a question you deserve the answer to, my Lord,”

He does not look away from you, and speaks gently.

“And yet I will have it, regardless,” There is something unnameable in his eyes. You clear your throat and look away from him, and move towards the entrance of the cave. Slightly drizzling, the rainwater is making a quiet shushing sound and the gentle sway of a tree branch is beating against the entrance to the cave. Your eyes lost focus following it and you start to be hypnotised by the leaves. How many times had you sat in this exact position, watching the beating of that exact branch?

Against your better judgement, your thoughts turn back to where you came from. 

_ A hallway, with a door…  _

The box you had tightly chained in the back of your mind starts to rattle.  The banging of the branch starts to drum out a rhythm that echoes around your head. The beating is getting louder and louder and the blood thumping in your ears is getting harder and harder...  You shudder and pull yourself out of the daze.

_ What was that? _

Glancing back to Loki, you pray he didn’t notice that little episode - but of course he did. He’s watching you curiously, obviously wondering what kind of lunatic you were. You stand abruptly to break his attention.  His stare made you uncomfortable because he always seems to know too much about you, despite your complete silence on all his irritating interrogations.

“It’s starting to get darker, now,” you state, shuffling back towards the cave entrance to drop the fur curtain (an invention of yours after one stormy night where you’d awoken to half your belongings hanging on a hedge a mile away.) 

You desperately relock the box in your mind and try to forget, bringing your thoughts back to your sleeping arrangements for your third night with Loki.  _ Can’t say you’re looking forward to sleeping against the wall again tonight. _ Loki seems to follow your train of thought.

“You know, as a Prince I am more accustomed to a warmer bedchamber as opposed to your, albeit comfortable, cold cave.” 

What was he getting at? You felt a slight stab of upset that he seemed so willing to leave, before you composed yourself.

“You are welcome to leave anytime you feel that you’re strong enough.” you retorted, bitterly.

“No, that’s not what I-” he sounded frustrated. “I meant that I would be more comfortable with the warm body of a lady by my side.”

You furrow your brows in slight judgement. Surely he didn’t mean?

“Surely you don’t mean for me to sleep with you, my Lord?”

“Unless you would rather sleep against the wall again? Besides, I feel my wounds would heal faster if I were warm.”

He puts on an innocent look, but you aren’t fooled. You heard his childhood stories - even some from adulthood - he was a trickster, and enjoyed fooling all kinds of people. Eyes narrowing, you ask:

“My lord, why are you really pushing this?”

He sighs. “I do not wish for you to go another night without rest, and I fear that if I slept against the wall my wounds would suffer worse for wear,”

You stare at him, unconvinced. How could a man who would strangle you one day, show such compassion the next?

“No.”

He sighs. “I get the impression, pet, that you do not much trust me,”

“Your impression would be correct, my Lord.” You glared at him, still unsure if he was being sincere in his suggestion.

He paused for a moment and just looked at you again. Fidgeting under his gaze, you are determined not to break it. What had your mother always said? 

_ Do not show fear. Do not betray weakness. Do not back down. _

He just said nothing, and broke the gaze, just turning away from you to lie down on the furs with a pained hiss. You stared at him a moment longer. Was that it? No fighting back, no further attempts at persuasion?  His body shivered with every breath and you started to feel sorry for him. He was only trying to help, and you’d immediately assumed the worst. Since when have you been as cruel and impulsive as your family?  You let out a frustrated huff and struggled onto the furs next to him, wiggling around until you’d found a position that was somewhat comfortable. You did not notice the satisfied smirk on the face of the prince.  Back pressed against his, you desperately tried not to think of how this was probably the closest you’d been to another man your entire life, especially a prince.

Minutes passed, and in that time you somehow felt yourself relaxing against him and your breaths began to match his.

Just when your eyes began to droop, heavy after a day of playing Loki’s games, he moved away from you. Your eyes flicker open, fighting the feeling of disappointment.  Suddenly, his arm curls around your waist and pulls you in close to him, before you hit his chest. He heaves out a sigh of contentment and falls lax against you.  You should want to shove back against him, to move away and fight against his hold of you, but before you can do any of that you are falling asleep again.

It’s the best sleep you’ve had in years.

\--

The next morning, your eyes flutter open and are greeted by a span of pale skin. It seems in the night you had somehow managed to completely turn yourself over and you were now pressing your nose into the prince’s chest.

_ Oh norns, oh norns _ , you thought.

Please say he hadn’t awoken yet.  Involuntarily, you inhale deeply through your nose - he smelled  _ amazing _ .  Sort of birch tree and lavender - a strong undertone of leather - you couldn’t help but get another deep sniff. Slowly, you came to realise his chest was shaking slightly under your face - he was  _ laughing _ .  Red faced, you quickly try and pull away from him but he holds you fast with a strong arm around your waist.

“Do you smell something you like, darling?”

Your threatening response is muffled and the whole effect is completely undermined by his continual laughter. Finally, he releases you, trailing his fingertips across the bare patch of skin exposed from where your shirt had ridden up.  Ferociously, you yank it down again, and glare at him.

“You may not address me as such, my Lord. We are not quite so familiar.”

“Really? I was under the impression that you were becoming very intimately attached to my smell,  _ darling _ .” he practically purred, stretching out on the furs with a satisfied-sounding exhale.

You have no witty retort, and instead just turn to pulling on your boots as quickly as possible. You know for certain that you do not smell nearly as good, considering how your baths are now composed of weekly dips in the river nearby.  Keeping your face turned away from him, you desperately will your blush to disappear. 

‘I’m going out to get something to eat. Stay here.” you call back to him, and duck under your covering on the entrance to the cave.

Not a minute later, before you’d even finished gathering your tools together, Loki comes stepping out of the cave fully dressed in his (somehow perfectly mended) royal leathers.

“What now?” You ask, failing to keep the irritation out of your tone.

“Is it suddenly illegal to accompany a fine lady on her mission for food?” His voice is completely innocent sounding, and if it would not have been completely ridiculous, you could’ve sworn he batted his eyelashes. 

It only took you a second.

“Come on then, my Lord, if you feel recovered enough,”

No doubt he was a better hunter than you were.

\--

An hour later and loki had scared away  _ three _ potential breakfasts.

Dropping your aim once again, you turn and glare at him.

“What is your  _ problem _ ? Were you raised in a barn, my Lord?”

“Palace, actually.” He seems to have trouble fighting the smirk threatening to take over his features.

You roll your eyes at him and start to walk away in search of yet another squirrel.

“If you insist on scaring away our breakfast, then I hope you realise that that royal stomach of yours is going to stay empty for a while longer,”

“Surely my lady wouldn’t allow me to suffer in such a way?”

“I am  _ not _ your lady! You must stop addressing me in such a way, it is not proper.”

A branch snags on your trousers and rips them -  _ perfect luck.  _ More clothes you need to mend.

Loki retorts: “You address me as ‘my Lord.’ I was merely returning the sentiment.”

“It is not the same and you know it.” you snap. You have never known anyone to be this annoying. It seems like Loki gets more aggravating every minute that passes.

The twigs under your ferocious stomping are cracking much louder now. You’re probably scaring away all the wildlife regardless, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You seem plenty healed now, Loki. Perhaps you would take it upon yourself to return to wherever you came from?”

A sudden hand on your upper arm stops you in your tracks and you swing round to be face to face with Loki.

“You will not speak to me in such a manner. I am your  _ Prince _ ,”

Wrenching your arm out of his grasp, you look at him in distaste. “Again, you are not the Prince of Alfheim, Loki. And unless you wish for me to take you to Ljosalfgard so you may claim that title yourself, then you will not become it. You have no power here.”

His eyes turn angry and you fear for a second that he will start to strangle you again before a thoughtful expression takes over his face.

“That is not such a bad suggestion.”

You scoff. “Even one so quick-tongued as yourself could not talk Aelsa Featherwine into naming an Asgardian prince.”

He smirks and leers at you. “I would be happy to show you how quick- _ tongued _ I can be, my Lady.”

Your cheeks flame and you look away in embarrassment. “Quieten yourself, my Lord. You speak too freely!”

His smirk is still in place.

“I promise that you would enjoy it, pet” He whispers into your ear, his hands suddenly on your hips.

Chest heaving, you pull away from him again and fight the urge to put his hands back on you.

He straightens. “But I would appreciate an escort to the Capital, nonetheless. I feel Queen Aelsa may be the only one who knows how I can travel realms to get back to Asgard.”

Somehow you arrived back at your cave and you threw your bow down with a clatter.

“No.”

He turned to you. “What do you mean, ‘No,’ darling? You will take me there.”

“I will not! I have not spent so long here, in this  _ cave _ , just to walk straight back into Ljosalfgard with you,”

You yank your coat off with a frustrated huff.

“So you are running, then? And from the city, interesting. Did a common thief save my life? Are you afraid of soldiers, pet?”

You glare at him again -something you find yourself doing far too frequently. You do not answer.

His eyes watch you still as he strides across the cave to your satchel, propped up against the wall. It’s one of the few things left you have of your previous life.

“Of course you are, otherwise, how would you have  _ this _ ?”

Dangling from his fingertips is a dagger.  _ Your mother’s dagger.  _

“Give that back.”

“I should think not,” in a flash of green, the dagger disappears.

You shout and launch yourself over to Loki. 

_ Trickster _ .

“Where is it?” you growl.

He looks like he is enjoying this far too much. “Take me to Ljosalfgard, and I will restore it to you. Pity, it really was lovely craftsmanship. Perfectly balanced, beautifully adorned… much too ornate for a simple forest tramp like you to possess.”

Blood is pounding in your ears and you are so angry you can barely see straight.

“Fine. You win. I’ll take you to the city.”

You want to punch the arrogant look right off his face.

  
  
  



End file.
